“But it wasn’t that, was it?”

“How do you mean, John?”

“I mean, there was something else—something that had all of you twitchy. Doors that were pushed shut when I walked past…conversations that would stop dead when I stepped into the bar.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Whether I am or not, you’re going to have to deal with Fox—and he might look like the sort of big soft bear you’d win at the fair, but he’s got claws he’s spent his whole life sharpening.”

“And why would we even have to speak to him?”

“Because Elinor Macari will have made sure he has all the powers necessary. Right now, he’s requisitioning files and evidence from thirty years back. He’ll be well prepped when he comes calling.”

“You said it yourself, John—thirty years…Maybe none of us can remember that far back.”

“I doubt that’s going to be much of a defense, Eamonn. Not if there’s anything in those files for him to find.” Rebus paused. “So let me ask you right now: is there?”

“You were there, John. You know how we worked.”

“I know some of it.” Rebus watched as Siobhan Clarke emerged from Young Street. She saw him and waved. “Anytime you want to fill in the blanks for me, I’d gladly listen—might mean I can help.”

“John…”

“Think it over,” Rebus snapped, ending the call. Then, to Clarke: “Hello, you.”

“I was going to walk to Gayfield Square. You headed that way?”

“Why not?” The two crossed the road, mindful of traffic, and started along Hill Street.

“So what did you think?” she asked at last.

“You know me, Siobhan. I never give much thought to anything.”

“Yet you seemed to have nailed Fox—this job’s just deferring the evil hour when he’s consigned to CID.” She paused. “You don’t mind me acting as go-between?” She watched him shrug. “Actually,” she corrected herself, “I think the word Fox used was ‘referee.’”

“We were just a bunch of guys, Siobhan, typical of CID back then.”

“Except that you had a name for your gang.”

“I never had as much time for it as the others. When we went out on a job, we had this tape in the car—The Skids singing ‘The Saints Are Coming.’ It was mandatory to play it.”

“And if you forgot?”

“Someone would get annoyed—Gilmour usually.”

“He’s a developer these days, isn’t he?”

“Hotels mostly. Went into business with a big-name footballer.”

“He’s worth millions?”

“So the story goes.”

“I’ve seen him on No campaign posters…You still know him?”

Rebus stopped walking and turned to face her. “I saw him last night.”

“Oh?”

“At Dod Blantyre’s house.”

“The meeting your friend Porkbelly was telling you about?”